Summary: Hand-cuffed to his own History, Lucas North's life has spiralled out of all control. The past rushes up to meet him with the speed of an oncoming train, but in amongst the flashbacks and night terrors – a woman he has never seen before. Who is she? What does she want? What could she possibly have to do with him? Not that it matters much anyway, because soon he will plunge to his death off the Enver Tower. But will it really all end there for him?

Spooks and Robin Hood crossover. I know it's insane, but the plot bunny just won't leave me alone. Lucas North jumps from the Enver Tower and wakes up in twelfth century Nottingham. His new mission: to put right an ancient wrong committed in a past life and atone for the sins he commited in his "current" life. Chapter one is set mainly in Spooks, but then crosses over to Robin Hood, where it will then mostly stay. I have no idea whether anyone reads these crossovers, but if they do I hope it is enjoyed! Please take a moment to review if you have time. Thank you.

Chapter One: The Descent.

Gun shots ring out as car engines scream into life, shattering the rural tranquility like a dropped bomb. There's no time to return fire and Lucas's gun lies abandoned on the dashboard, sliding perilously in time to the sudden swerves of the car as he makes his escape along mercifully empty B roads. The rear window is smashed, a bullet took the whole thing out. But, he ignores that and keeps his eye on the road ahead; checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. Expecting his former colleagues to appear at any minute, he has driven almost five miles deeper into the countryside before he realises he's shaken them off, and finally allows himself to relax. He has the Albany file, he has Maya, and soon he will have his freedom.

The adrenaline subsides and his heartbeat slows as the only sound is the steady hum of the engine as the car speeds them ever onwards. He steals a glance at Maya, just a nano second. "We made it!" he informs her jubilantly, "Maya, we got away!"

Her silence is ominous; he realises she has been silent from the moment she got in the car – or rather, since he bundled her into the car. He steals another micro glance, and sees it now. The way her body twists in the seat, her face pressed into the window, her arm falls limp at her side to reveal a spreading stain of fresh blood, her top ragged where the bullet's deadly velocity tore through it, and straight into her chest.

"Oh, shit!"

He slams down on the breaks, the car crashing to a halt in the middle of the road and he leans over, turning her face to his. She is breathing, but only just, and her eyes are closed. Her strength, the thing that made her body live, is fast ebbing.

"Maya, stay with me," he pleads, "I'll get you to a hospital, just stay with me!"

Desperately he tries to stem the flow of the blood but it just keeps on spilling. "Oh, shit!" he curses again, growing frantic as her breathing all but ceases. He presses his hand into the open wound, near the neck of her stomach. As his hand sinks in, though, his own mind throws a curve ball of a flashback. He has had them before; knows he cannot fight it for long. But this is different, there is a woman dressed in white and he plunges a sword deep into her middle. The vision shuts off as quickly as it came, and Lucas easily pushes it aside. He focused only on Maya.

Already, he knows, it is too little too late. The acknowledgment of the fact comes with a suffocating wall of flashbacks, like a floodgate has opened in his head. This time, he is in familiar territory: He's back in his Russian prison cell, freezing water dripping into the towel over his face as the waterboarding starts again; the volts of electricity course through his whole body, paralysing him as a woman repeats the word "Sugar Horse" in heavily accented English. The cell gives way to the desert sands, and he plunges a sword into the soft, yielding, belly of a beautiful woman dressed in white. It's her again; the new ghost he has not met before. He looks in her eyes, wide with shock and pain, she was happy moments before he killed her. It's a new one on him and the shock jolts him physically back into the real world, the here and now, with Maya dying in his arms.

By the time he comes round, she is gone.

The knowledge seeps in slowly. Maya is dead. The love of his life, his key to being the man he was always meant to be, has slipped from his grasp. He looks her over, searching for even the remotest signs of life. Because even now, even if he has to push her in a wheelchair and bottlefeed her for the rest of her days, he just wants her to live. He brushes a kiss against her still warm lips. "Please, don't leave me," he pleads, the words almost inaudible against the oncoming rush of grief as he gets no reply. He cries the cry of a trapped animal, a felled lion, as he clasps her to his chest.

He doesn't try to stop the visions, now. Nothing from the past can hurt him any more; nothing can hurt him more than the loss of Maya. He closes his eyes as they come, giving in to their onslaught as they unfold in his mind: the Russian cell, the incessant flow of the water, he's climbing the walls under a harsh, naked, electric bulb. Then, he's in the desert. He can see the sand and feel the heat of the blazing sun. He is cradling the woman in white, still holding the sword that killed her. He killed her. He whispers a name: "Marian". He drops her, he realises what he has done and the guilt is overwhelming. The disembodied voice of Harry Pearce taunts him: "betrayal is a cancer; may it eat your soul". But the sands of the mystery desert give way to the grim streets of London. He's being given back to MI5 with a bag over his head, and all he can hear are the voices of his captors. "Make sure Lucas eats properly" says Arkady Kachimov – ever the Jekyll and Hyde. From under the hood, he recognises the voice of Harry Pearce: "Don't you think he's suffered enough?"

"No!" the real Lucas North cries, almost as if in response to the Harry in his memory. Hauled out of his living nightmare once more, he holds her one last time.

He leaves the Tracker with her body by the roadside; where his old team will trace it and find her. He moves as if in a dream. One minute driving, the next handing the Albany files over to the Chinese. It's like he's looking down on it all from high above. He is a traitor now. There can be no going to back to MI5 now. But he's not done yet. His life may be over, but he's taking someone down with him for what happened to Maya: Harry Pearce.

It was all so easy. A fake bomb in a busy trainstation, on a loop every three minutes. It won't go off, but Harry doesn't know that. He makes the call, and Harry agrees to meet him at the top of the Enver Tower. It works like a charm, and he's already back in the center of London, up on the Tower when Pearce arrives. He has his mobile phone out, and his gun is loaded and ready to fire. As soon as Harry appears, Lucas is on him with gun at his head.

"Why here?" Pearce asks, quite casually.

"I wanted us to be a lone for this," Lucas replies, as though they were just two old friends meeting for a catch-up on the roof of a high-riser.

Harry is still unphased. "This being my death?"

"Maya didn't need to die; you could have stopped it."

"Yes, I could have-" he admits before Lucas cuts him off, still with the gun at his head, edging him closer to the lip of the building. They will both fall at this rate, even before Lucas pulls the trigger.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I had to defend it, at all costs," Harry explains, his shirt tails flapping in the strong breeze. "I would do it all again."

"I loved her!" Lucas retorts, "I did all this for her!"

"Terrible things are done in the name of love-"

"Spare me!" Lucas snaps back, aiming a blow at the side of his former bosses head, opening a cut over his eye. "Well you're a traitor too, now. You gave me Albany, and I gave it to the Chinese. We're the same, now."

For the first time, there is a flicker of remorse in Harry's expression. "You didn't give them anything," he said, confusing the other man even more. "Albany doesn't work; it never did. It worked as a deterrent, so we kept it a State Secret. The Russians were so scared of it that we kept it anyway."

The truth hits Lucas like a speeding train. "She... She died for nothing?" It was like losing Maya all over again.

Harry doesn't answer that, but changes tack. "Lucas, come down with me. Whatever you've done, the nation owes you. We can do a deal."

No, he can't. Lucas is under no illusions about that. "I can't go back to prison," he whimpers like a wounded dog as the images of torture flash through his mind once more. He would sooner die than go back to that. "I'll go back to prison and die there while you sit in your office and tell people what you told me, once."

"Lucas, it's been three minutes; send the code to reset the bomb. No one else need die except me," says Harry, daring to hold out a hand.

The fake bomb had seemed such a coup at the time, but now it feels hollow. Like his final victory against the security forces had been snatched away from him. Now, he couldn't even avenge the death of Maya. "The bomb's not real, Harry," he admits, then adds with just a flicker of triumph. "But it did its job – it brought you here."

Nothing is real in this life. Not his identity, not Albany and not even the bomb on the bloody trainline. It was all shadows, and shadows of shadows. Harry knows that, he's an old pro at it, MI5 is in his blood. But when Lucas abandoned his old identity, his past followed him everywhere like an old stray dog. But he was escaping now. He may not have escaped with Maya as he had meticulously planned, but he was about to be set free.

"Turn around," he instructs Harry. He has one last trick to play on his old boss.

Harry does as he's told, but he's still trying to reason. "Whatever you've done, the service owes you, Lucas."

Lucas re-aims the gun in his hands, clasping it tightly, still trained on Harry's head.

"Who are you?" demands Harry, "are you John the murderer, or Lucas, the man who gave up his life to save so many lives?"

For a moment, Lucas ponders the question. He was born as John, and John had murdered. Lucas was a spy working for Queen and Country. He didn't know who he was anymore. All he knew for certain was that he'd truly reached the end of the road.

"I am nothing," he states baldly as he lowers the gun; takes one final leap from the top of the building and surrenders himself unto the laws of gravity.

"I would sooner die than marry you,"says the girl in white, edging back away from the point of his sword.

The girl isn't Maya. Lucas doesn't know who she is, or even who he is. He's the one with the sword but he cannot drop it, he cannot control himself. The anger, the betrayal, the pain that squeezes his heart, will not let him. He is just a vessel for this – other person – who's inhabiting his body and dictating his actions. He can't even formulate a reply to the girl. He wants to tell her that he has no intention of marrying her because he doesn't know who she is. But he's feeling someone elses emotions, and he is in pain.

"I am going to marry Robin Hood," she tells him. He thinks he's misheard the name. "I love Robin Hood," she adds. He didn't mishear the name.

The other person controling his body wins again. Lucas wants to congratulate the girl on her upcoming wedding to a mythical medieval outlaw, but it's too late, the sword is plunged deep into her abdomen and a torrent of blood spills out over his trembling, sword clutching, hand. The person who's feelings he has would sooner see her dead than with another man. He felt that way about Maya. He remembered seeing her with Vaughn as everything around him dissolves into an inpenetrable darkness.

"What does it do?"

The man sounds confused, but his voice reaches Lucas inwaves radiating through the darkness. He can feel his wrist being tugged, the sleeves of his jacket being roughly rolled back.

Another voice, different, joins the conversation. "It's like a timepiece, I think, but it's worn in the manner of a lady's bracelet. Look at the numbers and the tiny arms. Definitely a small timepiece bracelet."

He tries to move, but his body feels like lead. He can't even open his eyes. He would fall asleep again if it weren't for the voices and the people prodding at his body. Is this what lies beyond black? He had never imagined the afterlife before, even with his Minister father. He just assumed there would be nothing. That he would have plunged from the Enver Tower into a peaceful blackness and stayed there forever more. Looks like he was wrong.

"And what is this?" another voice asks, female but heavily accented this time. He is relieved it's not a Russian. He cannot feel himself being pinched, any more. They must be looking at something else they found on his person.

"Look, there are numbers all over the front. Press one, and it lights up a glass front with pictures. It is magic, I think."

"Nah, can't be. Let's have a look."

It occurs to Lucas that he is being robbed. Only he could be burgled straight after comitting suicide. All he can do is lie helpless as a new born on the ground. Lumpy and hard, he can tell he is outside. He can hear birds in the treetops, and small animals darting through unseen undergrowth. His training kicks in, and he carries on playing dead to buy time to find out exactly what is going on. Something isn't right.

Finally, someone kneels down at his side. Even with eyes closed he can feel himself being studied intensely. "I still think it's Guy." the person laughs. "But what's he wearing? What's with the hair cut? He looks the same, but different. He's got a better barber, that's for sure."

"I am telling you, that is not Guy of Gisborne. He's too skinny, too ... refined. Let's see what Robin thinks. Robin!"

Footsteps draw closer and finally Lucas pulls himself together and manages to open his eyes. The two men peering down at him leap back in alarm, one of them drops a mobile phone as he does so. His mobile phone. The one that connects straight back to the Grid. He leans forward stiffly to snatch it back before these people can make off with any state secrets that he has stashed on there in files. Nearby, an Asian girl with short hair is intently studying a pen drive that must have fallen from his pockets. Questions crash into his mind. So many that he doesn't know where to begin.

"Er, can I have that back, please?" he asks the girl, having given up on anything useful.

"He's alive!" one of the others gasps.

"That's not Guy."

Lucas looks at the man who said that. Short, with a bandana type scarf round his head. "No," he replies, still utterly perplexed. "I'm Lucas North and I'm supposed to be dead. Who're all you?" He can barely believe he even said that out loud.

They're a dirty, ragged bunch. It's like they've been living in this woodland for years. And he can see he is in woodland. There was no traffic to be heard, so he knows he is in deep. Forests in England like this are rare. He cannot possibly be so far in that he cannot get back onto a main road soon, though. They're all gaping at him, seemingly struck dumb. He looks at them, and they stare dumbly back at him. Something is wrong – he's known that all along. It's only now he realises just how wrong it really is.